Summers End
The last golden day of summer lingered in the meadow, sunlight glinting off dewdrops like scattered jewels. Lucy sat cross-legged in the grass weaving a daisy chain and soaking in the warmth that felt like a fleeting gift. The air was sweet but carried a crisp edge—a whisper of autumn waiting just beyond the horizon.
She glanced at the old oak tree at the field’s edge, its leaves just starting to turn. Her grandmother had called it the "Keeper of Seasons," teaching Lucy how it knew when to change, when to let go. Standing now, she felt the pull of time urging her forward, though she longed to stay in the endless sunlit days of summer.
Placing the daisy chain over her head, Lucy walked to the tree, its shadow stretching long in the fading light. She touched its bark and whispered, “I’m ready.” A soft breeze stirred, scattering a few golden leaves at her feet. Summer’s end wasn’t a farewell, she realized—it was a gentle promise of the beauty yet to come.
The last golden day of summer lingered in the meadow, sunlight glinting off dewdrops like scattered jewels. Lucy sat cross-legged in the grass weaving a daisy chain and soaking in the warmth that felt like a fleeting gift. The air was sweet but carried a crisp edge—a whisper of autumn waiting just beyond the horizon.
She glanced at the old oak tree at the field’s edge, its leaves just starting to turn. Her grandmother had called it the "Keeper of Seasons," teaching Lucy how it knew when to change, when to let go. Standing now, she felt the pull of time urging her forward, though she longed to stay in the endless sunlit days of summer.
Placing the daisy chain over her head, Lucy walked to the tree, its shadow stretching long in the fading light. She touched its bark and whispered, “I’m ready.” A soft breeze stirred, scattering a few golden leaves at her feet. Summer’s end wasn’t a farewell, she realized—it was a gentle promise of the beauty yet to come.
The last golden day of summer lingered in the meadow, sunlight glinting off dewdrops like scattered jewels. Lucy sat cross-legged in the grass weaving a daisy chain and soaking in the warmth that felt like a fleeting gift. The air was sweet but carried a crisp edge—a whisper of autumn waiting just beyond the horizon.
She glanced at the old oak tree at the field’s edge, its leaves just starting to turn. Her grandmother had called it the "Keeper of Seasons," teaching Lucy how it knew when to change, when to let go. Standing now, she felt the pull of time urging her forward, though she longed to stay in the endless sunlit days of summer.
Placing the daisy chain over her head, Lucy walked to the tree, its shadow stretching long in the fading light. She touched its bark and whispered, “I’m ready.” A soft breeze stirred, scattering a few golden leaves at her feet. Summer’s end wasn’t a farewell, she realized—it was a gentle promise of the beauty yet to come.
58” x 47”
Acrylic & Oil On Canvas
Artist: Tobie Hall